


3 Spooky 5 Me

by E_Salvatore



Series: 2016 Holiday Specials [1]
Category: Tanis (Podcast), The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Gen, basically b movie-grade horror, chapter three: canon compliant throughout season 2 i guess, chapter two: canon divergent post season 1, seasonally-inappropriate fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/pseuds/E_Salvatore
Summary: A seasonally-inappropriate collection of short horror stories, featuring our favorite PNWS characters: Nic's relationship with Tanis gets uncomfortably personal, a childhood friend of Alex's suddenly pops up, and Doctor Strand learns to avoid all mirrored surfaces.





	1. Communion

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Here, have some horror stories I meant to post for Halloween.

“It’s gone.”

The voice is familiar, but it still takes him a while to cut through his 4 A.M. grogginess and figure out who’s on the other end. “MK?”

“It’s gone, Nic,” She says, more urgently this time – or perhaps he’s just awake enough to belatedly register the thinly-veiled panic in her voice. “Tanis is gone.”

He laughs. It’s 4 A.M., MK actually sounds _scared_ and nothing makes sense anymore, so he laughs. “What- what do you mean, ‘Tanis is gone’? Gone where? How?”

“How would _I_ know?” MK snaps, and for one short, blessed second, he can almost pretend that she sounds normal, that everything _is_ normal. But then she starts talking about wiretaps and hacked email accounts and all the frantic calls and messages Cameron Ellis has received in the past hour (seasoned liberally with a ton of techno-babble about just how she managed to hack Ellis’ communication lines, but that’s her thing, her you-probably-can’t-tell-but-I’m-low-key-freaking-out thing, and he’s too concerned by the fact that she’s babbling to interrupt the babbling itself), and Nic realizes that this isn’t some prank or weird dream or prophetic daydream.

This is reality. This is now. This is happening.

“Look, all I’m saying is if you’re gonna talk about burning Murder Forest to the ground, maybe don’t talk about it _while you’re in the fucking Murder Forest_. No wonder it up and left; hell, I’d up and leave too if someone threatened to burn me to the fucking ground.”

And Tanis is… gone.

“Nic? Nic!” MK repeats forcefully, snapping him out of his silent panic attack. “Are you there?”

“I’m-” His phone feels slippery in his hand and reality feels slippery in his mind. “Yeah, I’m here.”

MK is silent for a beat; it’s a contemplative beat, it always is with her. “I’m coming over,” She decides and declares in one breath.

“What? No, you don’t need to- MK, it’s four in the morning.”

“And you’re about two seconds away from a complete mental breakdown,” MK points out; he can already hear the commotion of her single-handedly yanking on a coat and sweeping all of her stuff into her backpack.

“No, I’m not,” Nic laughs.

“Well, you will be once your mind processes the fact that the magical death forest you’ve dedicated your life to is gone, probably for the next four hundred years.”

It’s as if she’s walked his mind through the processing phase.

“Oh, God,” He gasps. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty,” MK says, her voice firm with finality. “Okay, Nic? Here’s what I want you to do. Get up-” She waits until she hears the rustle of him kicking back his sheets and getting out of bed. “Okay, good. Now go to the kitchen and make some tea. Can you do that for me? Just focus on the tea.”

“Okay,” Forcing a single word up his throat and past his lips feels like choking on a thousand dead leaves. “Okay, yes. Tea. I can do that.”

“Good,” MK exhales, a wave of relief that somehow washes over him as well. “Great. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, soon,” Nic says as he walks to the kitchen. It’s a surprise when he ends the call with an almost-cheery “drive safely”, a sign of normalcy that’s so utterly at odds with everything that’s bubbling to the surface now that he’s let go of his anchor in the hopes that it’ll return with a lifeboat.

“One step at a time,” He tells himself, concentrating on his socked feet. “Just one step-” Has each step always been this heavy? “At a-” Since when does his kitchen have a carpet of green leaves? “Time-” means nothing as dead leaves crunch under his bare feet, means nothing under the weight of green, green all around him and green under his feet and green in his lungs, means nothing when a thousand birds let loose one continuous, endless, eternal shriek in his mind that bounces off an infinite number of trees, trees that go on forever and ever and ever.

And somewhere, from a million miles away and twenty thousand feet under the sea, a voice reaches his ears: _sometimes Tanis is a place, sometimes it’s a concept._

_Sometimes it’s even a person._

An invisible hand shovels layers and layers and yet more layers of packed dirt and rotting bugs on top of him, burying him in his own mind.

Right before the last of his consciousness is snuffed out by brown and green and death, Nic finally understands Tanis –

Finally understands himself.


	2. Neighbor

_You have one voicemail._

“Hey, Alex. It’s mom. Just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing. It’s been a bit quiet around here since your father left for his fishing trip yesterday. I wasn’t too sure about letting him go, what with his back and all but… Last one of the year, he said, plus it gives me some peace and quiet to get the house straightened up for the holiday season, so I figured why not let him have his fun. Let’s see, what else? … Oh, the Silvers invited us over for dinner next week. I know you and Nic are busy with work, but it’d be nice if you kids could actually make it for once. So call me back when you get this, and let me know if-

The strangest thing just happened. A moving truck pulled into the house across from us – you know, the one that’s been empty for years now? Anyway, call me back. Love you!”

.

.

.

> _To: nic.silver@pnws.com_
> 
> _Subject: (blank)_
> 
>  
> 
> More stuff on the Grackles.
> 
> Also, that Thomas Warren dude you were looking for? He drove into Canada yesterday. Picked up an image of him at the border. Seems like something Alex would wanna know. 

.

.

.

_You have one voicemail._

“Hi, honey. It’s mom again. I’m guessing you’ve been too busy with work to check your messages. I wish you’d slow down – you know how worried your father and I get. Anyway, guess what? I went over to welcome our new neighbor this morning, and you won’t believe it! It’s Tommy Warren – remember him? Turns out the Warrens never got around to selling the house, and Tommy’s decided to move back. I can’t believe it. How long has it been, twenty five years? He’s turned into a nice young man. Oh, and he was asking about you. I told him about your show and it turns out he’s a fan! He was quite confused when I told him I don’t know the first thing about the show. You know I’d listen to it if I could, darling, but I never could handle scary things. Overactive imagination and all that. Anyway, call me back when you can. Your father’s still not home and it’s getting a bit lonely around here. Love you!”

.

.

.

> **Nic (21:27)** : I've been calling for the last 20 minutes. Call me back please.
> 
> **Alex (21:35):** Sorry! At that new cafe with the really bad reception. What's up?
> 
> **Nic (21:35):** MK found Thomas Warren. He's in Canada.

.

.

.

_You have one voicemail._

“It’s mom again! I’m beginning to wonder if you’re ever at home. Anyway, I got your message earlier today and yes, that’s definitely Tommy. Where’d you get that picture from? Also, you still haven’t told me if you can make it for the Silvers’ dinner this Friday. It’d be wonderful to have you home, even if it’s just for a day or two. And you’d get to meet Tommy! I really do think you two would get along. He’s been coming over for lunch these past two days, to keep me company until your father gets home... which was supposed to be today, but I guess he must've lost track of time again. Oh, I think that’s Tommy at the door right now. Talk later, love you! Let me know about dinner!”

.

.

.

> **Alex (13:38):** I'm driving home.
> 
> **Nic (13:41):** When? I'll come with you. Just give me an hour to finish this episode.
> 
> **Alex (13:42):** He's been hanging out with my mom, Nic. I can't wait, I'm leaving now. Sorry.

.

.

.

“Hey, mom. It’s Alex. Sorry it’s taken so long to call. I guess you’re out right now, or in the shower. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’m definitely coming back this weekend. Can’t wait to see you and dad!”

.

.

.

> _To: nic.silver@pnws.com_
> 
> _Subject: URGENT_
> 
>  
> 
> This is everything I could dig up on the Warrens who owned the house. Tommy Warren died shortly after his family moved out of your neighborhood. Nic, I don't know who you guys have been dealing with but it's not the same guy.

.

.

.

“Mom, it’s me again. I’m actually home now, but I guess you’re still out and dad isn’t back from his trip yet? Anyway, I’m gonna head on over to talk to Thoma- Tommy. Call me when you get this, please.”

.

.

.

> **Nic (18:21):** Hey, did you get home okay? I've been trying to call you. It's about Thomas Warren. He isn't who he claims to be, Alex. Be careful please.

.

.

.

“Hey, mom.”

_“Nic! It’s so good to hear from you. How’s everything?”_

“Good, I’m good. Listen, I’m actually calling about the Reagans. Have you seen Alex today?”

_“So that_ is _her car! I told your father it had to be, but he kept telling me her car is silver, not black.”_

“Nope, it’s definitely black. Have you seen her? Or her parents?”

_“I’m afraid not. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Marceline since yesterday. And Gabriel – why, it’s been nearly a week now! I don’t think he’s ever gone off on a fishing trip this long.”_

“Um… okay. What about Tommy Warren?”

_“I’m sorry, who?”_

“Thomas Warren? He moved back into the old Warren house a few days ago?”

_“I don’t… I don’t recall anyone new around here.”_

“Didn’t Marceline tell you anything about him?”

_“Oh, I haven’t had the chance to have a proper talk with her for a while now. You know how busy it gets around here, what with the dinner party this Friday and all.”_

“So the Warren house… it’s empty?”

_“As far as I can tell.”_

“And the Reagans, you haven’t seen them around?”

_“Just their cars, I’m afraid. All three of them too – strange, for all of them to be gone without taking a single car.”_

_,_

_._

_._

> **Nic (08:46):**  Still haven't heard from Alex. Heading to Vancouver.
> 
> **MK (09:01):** It's been two days. 
> 
> **Nic (09:17):** I know. No one's seen her parents either.
> 
> **MK (09:19):** I'll see what I can find.

_._

_._

_._

_Hi, it’s Alex! Sorry I can’t pick up the phone right now. You know what to do!_

_._

_._

_._

_Hello, it’s the Reagans. Leave a message at the beep and we’ll get back to you!_

_._

_._

_._

_The number you have called is not available._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last and to the great disappointment of anyone who was expecting anything more than a text message fic - I present to you: chapter two.
> 
> Chapter three coming soon; hopefully it'll be scary like chapter one rather than clumsy like chapter two.


	3. Orpheus

_Don’t look back._

It’s the third day of his search for Coralee when a sinking feeling in his gut quickly follows the realization that something or someone is behind him. The sensible thing – the smart thing, the safe thing – to do would be to turn around and identify this newcomer, to find out whether he’s finally found his wife or drawn the attention of a dangerous predator. But Strand can hear his own blood rushing, his heartrate picking up, his breath coming hard and fast with adrenaline or fear or possibly both.

And suddenly, the man who doesn’t believe in ghosts has conjured up a hundred different visions of what might be standing behind him, its gaze an unwelcome weight on his back.

Later, he will tell himself that it was sleep deprivation, that it was hunger and dehydration, that it was just the stress of having lost his wife and alienated his daughter. But for now, he keeps walking and doesn’t turn back, not even once.

It takes hours before he feels like he’s alone again.

.

.

.

 _Don’t look back_.

It’s been a week since Charlie left; nearly two since Coralee… disappeared? Ran away? Died?

The eyes are back again. They’re almost always with him these days, ever since he lost his family and retreated into an empty house filled only with memories of better days and faint echoes of laughter. Sometimes he gets distracted for a moment, feels his eyelids grow heavy with sleep and jerks awake seconds later in a disorientated haze. It’s moments like these when he resents the intruder in his life the most, because it’s moments like these when he mistakes its presence for a more familiar and welcome one. In the darkest hours of night, left alone with nothing but his craziest thoughts and worst fears, he considers the possibility of ghosts and Coralee’s death and being haunted by loved ones.

And then the sun rises and he chalks everything up to loneliness and grief, but he still won’t chance a look into the mirror until he feels like the only occupant in the house again.

.

.

.

_Don’t look back._

But sometimes he’ll talk out loud. Not to anyone else, not to himself, just… out loud. If he only starts doing it after he’s come to terms with the fact that Coralee is most likely dead – well, it’s not like anyone else will ever know.

He talks about their earliest days together. He talks about funny things he remembers Charlie doing as a toddler. He talks about disagreements and regrets and other things that weigh on him like an anchor.

When the weight on his back and the presence in the room starts to feel familiar and comforting, he can’t tell if it’s because he’s gotten used to ~~her~~ it after all these years, or if it’s because Richard Strand finally believes in a ghost.

But he still won’t look over his shoulder or into the mirror or down at some particularly reflective tiles.

.

.

.

Alex thinks the beard is the result of a lapse in his self-hygiene, that it goes along with the flannel he’s dug up from his college days because he can’t be bothered to do laundry and the generally disheveled state of his person because he can’t be bothered to maintain some semblance of normalcy. He decides he’d rather have her believe he’s too distraught and crazed to shave once in a while, because it’s better than letting her know he’s taken to avoiding mirrors entirely for reasons he can’t and won’t explain.

Eventually, he figures out a way and only shaves when someone else is around, keeps the bathroom door open with either Ruby or Alex in the other room, chatting away and clearly within sight. He feels like a child hiding behind his mother’s skirt, sleeping in his parents’ bed because ghosts and monsters can’t get to him while someone else is around. 

Only it can’t be a ghost – not the one he thought it was, at least – because one day he finds himself face to face with Coralee and she’s not behind him or in the mirror, she’s there in the flesh and two feet ahead of him.

And sure, he’s seen pictures of her and heard from her and known of her continued existence for a while now, but it isn’t until he sees her in person that he’s finally hit with an overwhelming wave of relief that washes away the last of the guilt that has weighed on him for nearly two decades now.

The combination of relief and confusion and sorrow and anger and betrayal consumes him long after Coralee’s gone, carries him through the day and all the way to his empty house.

But it isn’t empty, and it’s only now that Strand realizes that some part of him has always believed in ghosts, always believed that Coralee had lingered, because how else can he explain the sheer _terror_ that overcomes him now that he realizes it’s not Coralee. It never was.

_Don’t look back._

 

_Don’t. Look. Back._

 

_DON’T._

_LOOK._

_BACK._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done! And it only took me, oh... NINE MONTHS. Some people grow entire human beings in nine months. I wrote three tiny barely-spooky ficlets.


End file.
